


The Mermaid AU Nobody Asked For (Again)

by IdSellMySoulForRecentlyUpdatedFanfiction



Series: Bri Shut Up [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Derek Is Kind Of Fucked Up, F/F, He's A Mermaid Tho IDK What You Expected, Human Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Like They Eat People, M/M, Mermaid Derek Hale, Mermaid Hale Family, Mermaids Are Not Nice, The Hale Family (Teen Wolf) Lives, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-09-07 07:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20305702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdSellMySoulForRecentlyUpdatedFanfiction/pseuds/IdSellMySoulForRecentlyUpdatedFanfiction
Summary: The Little Mermaid is bullshit. Disney CEOs may have hit the mark on perfect pitch and an ability to seduce weak minded men -- and, sure, there has to be a few redheads with green scales -- but the depiction of seafolk as helpful and innocent definitely lulled the young residents of Beacon into a false sense of security. Mermaids -- and mermen? Merpeople? Merfolk? -- are a hell of a lot more like Ursula, and the people of Beacon are just a basketful of poor, unfortunate souls.





	1. Chapter 1

_ _ _ The Little Mermaid _ is bullshit. Disney CEOs may have hit the mark on perfect pitch and an ability to seduce weak minded men -- and, sure, there  _ has _ to be a few redheads with green scales -- but the depiction of seafolk as helpful and innocent definitely lulled the young residents of Beacon into a false sense of security. Mermaids -- and mermen? Merpeople? Mer _ folk _ ? -- are a hell of a lot more like Ursula, and the people of Beacon are just a basketful of poor, unfortunate souls. There’s also a handful of those sketchy ass eels lurking about the island: leery and longing for attention from something much, much more powerful than they are. There’s a familiar yellow bleeding from this hunter’s left iris -- dribbling down his face and smearing neon across his scarred cheeks -- that definitively marks him as a Jetsam. Stiles makes a face at the wet  _ schwelch _ that sounds when he slides his knife out of Power-Crazed-Hunter-Number-Who-The-Fuck-Knows’ throat.

“What is with you guys and making deals with cannibals?” Stiles asks, turning to Allison. She pauses in dragging Flotsam. Disney would have had a hell of a time skewering her characterization, too. What, with the Snow White skin, the Belle-esque hair, and the fairy-tale dimples. The blood smeared across her jacket and staining her pants would be difficult to explain, though. And that glare isn’t  _ particularly  _ princessy.

“Don’t group me in with Tweedledee and Tweedledum here.  _ Lydia _ ,” Allison motions at her body with one hand, soaked with red and neon yellow, “gave me these clothes, for one, so I dress a  _ hell _ of a lot better, and two, between all four of us, I have the brain cell.”

“If Lydia bought you those clothes you’re in even deeper shit than these guys.” Stiles kicks Jetsam for emphasis, and Allison seems to pale just slightly. “And your girlfriend is definitely the one with the brain cell. Which she’s going to use to murder you. How expensive was that fucking jacket?” It’s thick, enchanted leather; made to protect the wearer from a powerful projectile. Stiles would guess it's price is somewhere in the high hundreds. Stiles would also guess that the powerful projectile it’s going to protect Allison from is one of Lydia’s stilettos. A vibration in his pocket draws Stiles’ attention, and he grabs his phone quickly. Lydia’s name flashes across the screen, along with a selfie Lydia chose as her picture.

“Speak of the devil.” Allison smiles, ditching her body to approach Stiles. The leaves beneath her boots crunch wetly, and nearby shrubbery grabs desperately at her ankles. Despite the somber mood of the forest and the surrounding bodies, the need to be a little shit rises within Stiles.

“I’m telling.” Stiles says, answering his phone.

“ _ Don’t. _ ” Stiles ignores Allison’s exclamation with a grin. 

“Are you in mortal danger?” He asks, the words coated with sarcasm, but carrying the weight of a serious unfavorable answer.

“Not yet.” Lydia’s voice is calm through the phone’s speaker. Allison frowns as Stiles abruptly drops his attitude.

“Not yet?” Stiles asks, and Allison’s steps become quieter -- more measured. She becomes the Argent matriarch in mere moments.

“What does that mean?” She comes to a stop next to Stiles

“Give me my girlfriend.” Lydia orders, and Stiles doesn’t get the chance to choose to comply or not. Allison snatches the phone from his hand. Stiles makes a face and moves over to his Jeep, opening the passenger door and grabbing Allison’s phone from her bag. He dials her father, and Chris picks up quickly.

“Allison?” His voice is scratchy with sleep.

“She’s alive, but, no -- Stiles.”

“Are you okay?” The man croaks, and Stiles feels a tad warmer in the cool of late autumn.

“Yeah, I’m alright. This is just an update so you know we’re still alive. Two morays so far.” Allison’s voice begins to fade as she crosses the clearing.

“Morays?”

“Yeah, morays. Flotsam and Jetsam?” Stiles offers.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Allison voice raises slightly, and Stiles’ eyes snap to the rustling of a nearby bush. A terrified rabbit races across blood stained grass. Chris’ words are nearly forgotten as Stiles struggles to refocus.

“Disney.  _ The Little Mermaid _ .” Stiles hesitates as his eyes sweep the treeline. “Those eels around Ursula.”

“Those had names?”

“Of course they had names.”

“Why would I know -” Chris takes a deep breath, “- never mind. Speak English, Stiles.” Stiles stops his search to roll his eyes.

“Mermaids.” Stiles clarifies.

“Walking?” It sounds like Chris sits up in bed.

“No, thank god. I don’t have the energy to deal with those right now.” Stiles sighs, feeling a -- admittedly  _ awful _ \-- sense of calm settle across the clearing; the blood on his hands and the bodies splayed across the ground mean that there’s one less problem for him to deal with on Beacon. “But you might want to put the word out. Check and see if anybody’s been reported missing from hunter groups. These guys were  _ deep _ .”

“Any bite marks?” Chris asks.

“Not that I noticed, but I wouldn’t put it past them to have some further down. They moved a little  _ too _ fast. If they weren’t already bitten, they were damn close.” Stiles throws a glance back at Jetsam and Flotsam, and Chris heaves a heavy sigh through the receiver.

“I’ll look into it. And I’ll send some cleaners. Thanks for the update.”

“No problem,” Stiles shrugs, “and stay safe. Don’t open the door if Scott knocks.”

“Never.” There’s a grin in Chris’ voice as he hangs up, and Allison seems to end the call with Lydia at the same time.

“Is Lydia dying?” Stiles asks, looking up from Allison’s phone.

“If she were you’d feel like shit for being sarcastic about it, but no. We have to hurry though.” Allison fidgets where she stands, twisting her foot on top of an invisible threat. Stiles knows she won’t be able to calm down until she’s able to visually confirm that her girlfriend is alive and unmaimed. Stiles can understand that. Allison tosses Stiles his phone and, for some reason, grabs Jetsam’s body. Stiles starts the Jeep as Allison haphazardly tosses the body into his trunk. “Mermaid.” She explains at Stiles’ confused look. His entire body goes cold.

“Fuck. Walking?” This seems familiar.

“No. Trapped in a van.”

“That’s not better.” That’s actually somehow worse. Stiles gasses it when Allison settles into the passenger seat, and the pair take off into the woods. The closer they get to Lydia’s given location, the quieter the trees seem to become.

“You know, you become absolutely fucking unbearable when you’re manic.” Stiles snaps when Allison tells him to speed up for the fifth time. He’s weaving through trees with a Jeep; it’s not exactly  _ easy _ .

“Fuck you,” Allison snaps back, her face momentarily contorted in anger. Her expression shifts with her tone, “do you think she’s okay?” Panic permeates the air around Allison, and Stiles, while also concerned, is kind of sick of choking on it. The three have a pack bond -- a nice gift that remained when the trio left the McCall pack -- and Stiles can  _ feel _ that Lydia is fine. He knows that  _ Allison  _ can feel that Lydia’s fine. Concern is a breath of fresh air to the usual hate or pressure flung at Stiles’ small pack, but it’s not like Stiles knows any more than Allison. He didn’t even get to  _ talk _ to Lydia.

“It’s Lydia,” He points out, “she’s always okay.” It’s quiet in the Jeep for only a moment. “Did she sound hurt when you talked to her?” They’re both flung to the left as Stiles makes way too sharp of a turn; these trees come out of fucking nowhere.

“No.” Allison admits. And then, “Learn to drive.” Stiles makes sure the following right swerve is  _ uncomfortably  _ fast. It’s another tense two minutes before the pair -- and Jetsam -- pull to a stop before another clearing. It’s silent, which is usually the first step in the recipe for disaster: no birds, no bugs, a  _ lot _ of blood.

Now, Stiles has been surrounded by death since the age of nine, and he’s contributed to quite a few missing persons cases since the ripe age of sixteen. He just, in fact, stabbed a man in the neck and watched the life  _ literally _ drain from his irises. Despite all of this, his stomach does a damn near 360 at the scene he and Allison just pulled up to. Lydia rests a handful of feet in front of the Jeep, leaning against a tree and looking entirely too pale to be as unaffected as she’s pretending to be. In the middle of the clearing is a pipe leaking dangerously dark water, and the small lake being formed is clouded with blood and infected with gore. Chunks of flesh and intestines float about the man made -- moray made, Stiles thinks -- pond, and a pressure riots against Stiles’ throat as he parks his Jeep and gently steps out onto absolutely  _ soaked _ land. A head floats half submerged a few feet away from him. Stiles  _ just might _ throw up.

“What the fuck?” He croaks, only for a harmonious clash of thunder to respond from the truck sitting in the middle of the clearing.

“Mermaid.” Lydia responds, eyes flickering to her alpha for mere seconds. Stiles clenches his jaw and swallows against the roiling of his stomach. The doors of the trunk are thrown open haphazardly, and the body the head belongs to hangs limply -- shredded and leaking and  _ what the fuck _ . At least Lydia seems unharmed.

“Mermaid.” Stiles repeats, weakly. Goosebumps crawl up his arms; the hair on the back of his neck stands up; a tritoned snarl echoes through the woods. There’s no response. Birds have fled, squirrels are currently crashing through the underbrush to escape, and even bears are smart enough to have sauntered away to find a hole to hide in. The only creatures stupid enough to approach a cornered mermaid are Stiles and his small pack. Stiles takes a shaky breath: “Fuck.”

“You want to go through with this?” Allison asks, small tremors racking the hands she quickly shoves into her pockets. She knows Stiles isn’t smart enough to just leave this mermaid here; to make her somebody else’s problem. Stiles glances back at the Jeep; stares through the metal to the body resting inside. Son of a  _ bitch _ , Allison. He turns back to the Jeep and creeps forward hesitantly, silent except for the wet  _ squish _ of his footsteps. A high pitched whine makes the hair on his arms stand on end, and amber eyes meet golden flame.

“ _ Fuck _ .” Again.

“What?” Lydia and Allison’s voices merge as one.

“Gold. Gold eyes.”

“She wouldn’t check ours.” Lydia says.

“She might.” Stiles refutes, straightening up and wiping his face of fear. It’s still an undercurrent in his scent; it’s still something the mermaid will be able to pick up on. He ignores the facts -- something he’s become quite good at in the last few years -- and rounds the Jeep, throwing open the trunk. Jetsam’s body is crumpled in the back, and Stiles gags only slightly when he drags him out. At the scent of a fresh kill, the mermaid’s high whines shift from warning to curious.

“She murdered these dudes.” Allison says.

“I murdered this one.” Stiles points out.

“Not like this.” A hand is waved at Camp Crystal Lake. Maybe he didn’t go to these extremes, but Stiles also hasn’t been yanked out of the McDonald’s drive-thru and into the back of a shady ass van. With sociopathic tendencies like these, who knows what would happen. Stiles decides not to respond, and he hefts the body up into a fucked up bridal carry. With measured steps, Stiles creeps towards the van, feeling red waves lap at his knees. He steps on something firm and winces, swallowing back bile. The whine shifts into a rumbling growl, and it grows louder with each step Stiles takes. By the time he reaches the van, Stiles is soaked with seawater and blood up to his thighs. Twin golden fires track his every move as he makes himself visible, and the mermaid’s eyes flicker from Stiles’ face to the body he holds in his arms. His olive branch. His  _ sacrifice _ . Jesus fuck.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” Stiles starts, talking as calmly as he can manage. There’s a tremor in his throat that strangles his words. He takes a step forward, “I don’t even know if you can fucking understand anything I’m saying.” A step forward. “But I’m actually here to get you out of this.” Another. “Because teenagers are fucking stupid,” One more, he’s nearly at the open doors, “and I  _ really _ don’t need them to be the ones that find you.” Stiles comes to a stop next to the torn body, and he ignores the fear in the hunter’s dead, oozing eyes. He ignores everything except the mermaid in front of him. If she so much as shifts in the wrong direction, he needs to be ready to  _ move _ . “I don’t-” Stiles cuts himself off, his jaw clenching at the confusion in the mermaid’s eyes: the inability to understand what he’s saying. He knows some mermaids understand English; some understand quite a few languages. He assumes there’s a lot of free time to be had when you live for however long they do. Stiles also knows that there’s a language most mermaids speak, but, unhelpfully yet unsurprisingly, he has no idea what it’s called, let alone how to speak it.

Stiles feels his eyes attempt to flicker to the body in his hands, and he shifts forwards ever so slightly, reaching his arms out to hand over his offer. The mermaid stares at it uncertainly: untrustingly. Stiles can relate as she slowly reaches out, a clawed hand hovering over a dead arm. Before Stiles is even able to register what’s going on, the body is in the van and the mermaid is tearing into its stomach.  _ Stiles’  _ stomach isn’t the only thing lurching dangerously at that point, though. The speed at which the mermaid grabbed the hunter has Stiles swinging forward while he tries desperately to fall backwards instead. He would rather be surrounded by organs that  _ don’t _ belong to him, thank you very much. An unintelligible sound escapes his lips, and Stiles catches himself on a hinge. His face stops inches from the mermaid’s, and she raises her eyes from her dinner to make eye contact with what Stiles assumes is now possibly dessert.

Blood curls down from her lips as the mermaid stares at Stiles, baring just a hint of stained teeth. They’re like  _ daggers _ ; it takes everything in his body to keep from puking at the chunks of flesh and organ stuck in the fangs. The girl leans forward, nearly closing the gap between the two, and Stiles allows his self preservation instincts -- all two that he has -- to take over. He tilts his head. He bares his neck. The mermaid pauses, eyes flickering from Stiles’ show of reluctant submission to his wide eyes. His heart is about to beat directly out of his goddamn chest, and he  _ knows _ that the mermaid can hear it. She speaks, finally, words that Stiles has no chance of understanding: clicks and hums and growls fusing with what sounds like a latin based language. At his terrified silence, the mermaid frowns, before raising a blood soaked, clawed hand. Stiles flinches back, but not fast enough. The claws rest against the back of his neck as the mermaid curls her hand around the right side of his throat, and Stiles can hear the groan of a bow string being pulled back. Allison waits to fire, and Stiles waits to die, but the hand continues to simply rest against his pulse.

Slowly, Stiles opens his eyes; he unclenches the hand that snapped up to the mermaid’s wrist. She stares into his eyes, and glowing gold fades to a dark brown when Stiles finally stares back. Wordlessly, the mermaid removes her hand. The hunter’s blood remains on his neck, feeling heavier than it should. The mermaid motions to herself.

“Ksho-o-orah.” She croaks, the first three letters blurring together in a way Stiles can’t replicate, and the “o” sound crackling like static. Her voice is harsh from years of exposure to salt water. She motions to herself again, and repeats the word before Stiles’ brain finally realizes that it’s still alive and functional.

“Oh. Oh!” Stiles leans back, uncomfortable with the lack of distance. She may not have killed him, but the mermaid could change her mind at literally any moment. “Core- fuck, um. Cora?” It’s the closest he can get. The mermaid tilts her head, wet brown locks clinging to her face.

“Kscho-ora?” She tries. Stiles feels like he’s trying to make first contact with an alien.

“Cora.” Stiles points at the mermaid. “Does Cora work? Please tell me Cora works; I don’t want to fucking die because I can’t pronouce your name.” There’s no way in hell Stiles can even come close to duplicating the tritone vocals the mermaid can manage. She nods, which is apparently something both species do. She points at herself.

“Kscho-ora.” That’s apparently the closest she can get to speaking without any siren-song additions. Stiles can respect that, and he motions to himself.

“Stiles.”

“Sti-iles.” The “i” has an almost whistle-like quality to it, and Stiles knows that’s the best he’s going to get, the same way Cora knows he’s doing the best he can. Stiles nods back.

“Okay, great. Um.” Stiles feels his skin crawl again as his eyes flicker to the shredded body to his right. There’s keys dangling from a chain, hanging out of a chest pocket that somehow survived. He grabs them slowly, Cora tracking his movements closely. Stiles holds up the keys. “I’m going to use  _ these _ ,” Stiles shakes the keys, “to get you out of here.” Cora looks at him blankly, and Stiles huffs. He slowly backs up and rounds the van, turning on the engine. Cora growls again, but doesn’t make a move at him when he looks past the driver’s seat at her. She watches as he shifts the van into neutral, then hops out of the driver’s seat to appear once again at the trunk. “Can you guys come here?” Stiles asks, looking over his shoulder. Allison’s bow is still out, and Lydia looks tense. “Anything?” He asks the banshee. Lydia shakes her head, so the pair approaches.

“ _ Stiles _ .” Allison snaps in response to Cora’s thunder. Stiles looks back at her, and points at the huntress.

“Allison.” He says, and Cora takes a moment before nodding, eyeing the other girl. Stiles points at the redhead clutching her girlfriend’s wrist. “Lydia.” Cora nods again, but doesn’t seem keen on attempting to pronounce the names. That’s fine, she just needs to let the trio get her back into sea water. “Okay. Allison, you and I are going to push. Lydia, can you steer?” Stiles asks. Lydia looks wary, but nods.

“The closest river?” She clarifies, and Stiles nods.

“If there’s a  _ puddle _ of pure seawater large enough we can just drop her off there, too.” Stiles says, and Lydia places herself gently into the driver’s seat. Her movements contradict the blood soaking her clothes. Allison might just be saved from that stiletto if she can blame this horrifying pond for the blood covering her. Allison and Stiles look at each other, and the duo starts pushing as Lydia maneuvers the van between trees and around hills. Cora growls in frustration, but the mermaid refrains from swiping at the humans who are trying very hard to  _ help _ her. Given that the last group she dealt with tried to murder her, Stiles can understand her wariness.

It takes about an hour and a half, but eventually the small pack manages to pull to a stop next to a -- suspiciously -- calm river. If they hadn’t already been screaming, Stiles’ self preservation instincts  _ definitely _ would’ve started acting up at this point.  _ This is sea water _ . His mind cries.  _ You’ll be taken _ . Nothing happens as Stiles stares into the deceptive depths. Cora is now silent; Stiles knows her pack calls to her through the gentle black waves.  _ Come home _ . They order, and Cora is ready enough to comply that Stiles is able to crawl into the trunk  _ with _ her -- nearly having a heart attack in the process -- so he can unlock the chain encircling her tail. Her very  _ long _ tail. It’s covered in enough gore that Stiles can’t even pinpoint the color. How did the hunters get her into this truck?

The key ring that allowed the group to reach this point has a few more keys on it, and it takes three tries to find the one that releases Cora. There’s a moment of panic when Stiles realizes he’s going to have to  _ move _ Cora. She’s not able to get out of the van by herself, and that tail definitely hinders any land movement. As he’s looking between Cora and the river, the mermaid lifts her arms up to Stiles. Like a needy toddler. Stiles looks down at the predator at his feet, and is shocked that anything still surprises him tonight. He hops out of the van, and Cora helps Stiles lift her and maneuver her into a bridal carry. “If I die because of this,” Stiles starts shakily, looking into the inky water, “I’m going to be  _ pissed _ .” Cora doesn’t respond. It doesn’t even sound like Lydia and Allison are breathing.

Cora allows herself to be placed into the shallow waters near the bank, and the dark waves that lap at Stiles’ legs somehow seem deadlier than their gorey counterparts from earlier. Stiles releases his grip on the mermaid, and begins to stand back up when Cora suddenly reaches out to the same place she’d gripped earlier. Shivers race down Stiles’ spine as claws rest above his pulse point once again. Seconds stretch through eons as Cora’s claws dig just slightly into the pale flesh of Stiles’ neck. Within moments, though, Cora withdraws quickly, raising her hands in a surrendering position. Stiles flinches back from the stinging in his neck, and when his eyes refocus on the area Cora had rested before, the mermaid is nowhere to be seen. An arrow whizzes past the mermaid’s last position. The sounds of splashing a ways away draws the trio’s attention -- Allison’s bow is aimed at the area immediately -- and Stiles sees a flickering of movement in the black as Cora disappears below the waves.

Stiles looks back at his pack as he raises a hand to his neck. He pulls away now tacky fingers to stare at the fresh blood trickling lazily down to his wrist. “Did she just fucking claw me?” He asks, panicked. Allison and Lydia are on him within a moment.

“Not deep enough to turn you.” Lydia says, and Allison nods in agreement. Stiles lets out a shaky breath, still staring at the red stains on his hands. Nobody is quite sure how one gets turned with this species, so any serious injury is cause enough for panic.

“We’ll watch.” Allison says, ignoring Lydia’s heated glare, “Just to be safe.” Her words are more comforting than Lydia’s. Stiles nods his thanks, and then looks around.

“Anybody else want to get the fuck away from this river?” He asks, and the couple across from him nods. “Does somebody else want to drive?” Allison snatches the van keys from his hands, almost before he finishes talking. Amber eyes turn up to the moon as Lydia and Stiles follow Allison to the truck. They’ll leave it with the floating head, and Chris’ cleaners will deal with the vehicle and the blood drenched land it’ll be parked on. Stiles hops in the back -- where Cora had been trapped -- and he’s barely able to close the trunk doors before the trio is taking off. On the way back to his jeep, Stiles decides he’ll stay overnight at the Argent household. His pack needs him right now, and Stiles knows his dad won’t be home long enough to realize he isn’t home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE I'm writing this consistently, I just write rlly slow and I got a lot of shit to do

_ _ The supernatural situation on Beacon is tense. Stiles assumes that that’s the case  _ everywhere _ , but on the tiny, inescapable island of Beacon, there’s only Stiles and about 10,818 other people. Both Stiles and those 10,818 other people are, unfortunately, on one of the few small islands threatened by mermaids -- Beacon could, for all intents and purposes, be the  _ only _ island with a (kind of) cannibalistic invasive species. It’s not exactly something you can bring up to those living somewhere  _ other  _ than the island, so Stiles isn’t sure if he’ll  _ ever  _ find somebody stuck in the same situation.

_ _ Said fishy cannibals are what make the supernatural situation of Beacon so tense, though. When one lives their life in fear of the ocean because of some super-powered assholes that want to eat you, it’s very common to want to  _ kill _ those super-powered assholes. Usually, humans are smart enough to keep away from actually trying something that stupid. Those motherfuckers are scary, and it’s  _ very _ hard to avoid the vengeance of a mermaid pack when they can show up in your bathroom when you feel like risking a bath instead of a shower. Beacon  _ really _ needs to find some freshwater ponds or something for a water source; ocean water is obviously doing an awful job.

_ _ What’s entirely more common on Beacon -- as mermaid hunting is  _ supposed _ to be out of the question -- is hunting your neighbor after the paranoia sinks in and makes you peep through some windows that don’t belong to you. If you can’t take it out on the  _ aquatic _ assholes, store bought is apparently fine, and for every twenty humans on Beacon, there’s -- tragically -- a non-aquatic super-powered asshole. When humans find said supernatural creatures, they either go into therapy or they go and get a gun. That’s where Stiles comes in. As there are actual hunter families on the island, regular people are able to get the right materials to kill some innocent werewolf that was watching a movie in their living room during a full moon. Because of that, packs need humans to deal with their problems. It’s a lot easier to negotiate and/or create a new missing person’s case when you can’t get trapped in a circle of magical dust.

_ _ Now, Stiles has spent  _ years _ building up his reputation with packs. It started when he was sixteen -- apparently, being able to keep up with a wolf pack is enough to draw attention -- and the college student continues to build bonds now. Leaving the McCall pack when he was eighteen allowed him to  _ permanently _ deal with the problems other packs faced, and they seem to appreciate that much more than the shitty pep talks Scott gives them. Because of this aiding of packs, Stiles is called on for a multitude of problems. Instead of requesting help from the regular hunter families for a feral wolf, Stiles and his small pack get called in. Allison is an amazing tracker and has appropriate materials, Lydia is an all-around genius, and Stiles is, at this point, able to go toe to toe with feral creatures. He’s also usually the one stuck negotiating with packs, while Lydia and Allison deal with the human aspect of Beacon’s problems.

_ _ Based on all of this, Stiles expected something  _ normal _ when Satomi’s name and face flashed across his phone’s screen. Her pack is the one that Stiles’ is closest to, so she calls him for many mundane issues. She didn’t come today bearing a mundane issue.

_ _ “There’s a mermaid on the beach.” She says.  _ Good morning to you, too, Satomi. _ Stiles gives himself a moment to stare despairingly at his ceiling, and then he gets up to look around for clothes he doesn’t necessarily like.

_ _ “Why.” It’s not a question. Stiles pulls on the ugly basketball shorts his grandmother bought him for his last birthday. “I just fucking ‘Free Willy’ed one, like, a week ago.” Satomi knows this; Stiles told all packs he has agreements with about the whole Situation that went down about ten days ago. On goes the shitty free shirt he got at orientation a few years ago.

_ _ “This  _ is  _ more activity than usual.” Satomi says, pausing to think. Stiles slips on his flip flops and nearly falls down the stairs as he races to the front door. “It’s a Hale, too.” Ice races through Stiles’ veins, and the human trips over the living room carpet.

_ _ “You’re fucking with me.” He says, and dread fills him at the silence on Satomi’s end. Stiles barely remembers to lock his front door before he hops over his porch’s railing. He’s already gassing it out of his driveway when Satomi finally responds.

_ _ “I wish I was. My pack and I have tried to deal with this on our own, but I believe the Hales are distrustful of werewolves.” Stiles winces at the name and speeds through a stop sign. Most police officers know better by now than to pull him over.

_ _ “Makes sense. They know what you guys can do.” Stiles barely makes it through a yellow light. The Hales had been a prominent werewolf pack for  _ centuries _ , but a hunter -- Allison’s Aunt Kate -- had decided that trapping the Hales in their house and setting it ablaze sounded fun. There’d been a human in the pack -- an emissary named Deaton, according to Satomi -- who’d freed the family. The wolves had decided the nearby river was the quickest way to extinguish themselves, and an opportunistic mermaid pack had decided the wolves would make excellent additions to  _ their _ pack. Apparently, DNA isn’t  _ entirely _ overridden when one gets turned into a mermaid, so the Hales had retained some wolf characteristics when they turned. Unsurprisingly, it had only taken a few months for the original pack to get wiped out and replaced by a vengeful Hale pack, and Kate and her father, Gerard, had ended up mysteriously murdered in their bathrooms. Every remaining Argent except Allison and her parents had been wiped out in one fatal swoop.

_ _ Of course, the official records state that the Hale family had been taken by mermaids during a family outing. Stiles wishes things were that simple. Satomi had apparently known Talia Hale -- the alpha at the time of the fire. There’d been reports of Talia being spotted with blue eyes, which means she’d passed down her power -- likely to one of her children. As they’d been turned while they were younger, her kids probably have a better grasp on the aquatic aspects of their lives. The transition makes sense, is what Stiles is getting at. Not that it helps the humans of the island. “Is Talia there?” Stiles asks, and there’s silence as Satomi looks around.

_ _ “I don’t believe so.” The alpha replies, “I’m not sure she would help much even if she were. It’s been quite a long time since we’ve seen each other, and you’re aware that many things can be forgotten after a turning.”

_ _ “We can have hope  _ sometimes _ .” Stiles says, “So what’s the plan, then?” There’s only a few more turns until he’s at the beach. He bullies a car into the right lane so he can pass.

_ _ “I-” Satomi cuts herself off. “There’s no real  _ plan _ . We have a theory that a human may be able to put her back, but I don’t believe your betas can do it. The Hale has reacted very negatively to Allison-”

_ _ “Go figure.”   
_ _ “-and she doesn’t seem comfortable with Lydia, either. It’s likely she can tell she’s not human, and that makes her distrustful.” Stiles sighs through his nose. He makes a sharp right turn, and sees the ocean approaching in the distance.

_ _ “So, essentially, the plan is to see if I get clawed trying to help.” Stiles concludes.

_ _ “Essentially,” Satomi says dryly, “yes.”

_ _ “Anything else?”

_ _ “We have the humans that dragged her onto the beach.” Stiles squints, pulling to a stop in a no-parking zone.

_ _ “Are you serious?” He asks, then continues, “Don’t answer that. I know you are. Make sure they’re tied up.”

_ _ “They already are. You’ve arrived?” Satomi probably heard the Jeep’s engine. She likely hears it die as Stiles yanks out his keys.

_ _ “Yep. Be there in a couple seconds.” Stiles says, and Satomi makes a noise of confirmation before she hangs up. It looks like the police have already cleared the beach of onlookers, and Stiles is a bit surprised that his dad hadn’t texted him to avoid the area. The wooden stairs creak as Stiles jogs down them, and Satomi is already turned in his direction when he hits the last one. There is, in fact, a mermaid on the beach. Her black tail is stark against the white sand, and her skin is raised and red where a mountain ash net meets her skin. Besides a low-toned, constant growl, the beach is silent. “Fuck.”

_ _ “Again.” Lydia says. She’s crouched in the sand, testing the strength of the zip ties she and Allison had put around two sets of wrists and ankles. “Always, really.”

_ _ “These aren’t hunters.” Allison says, and Stiles frowns.

_ _ “How’d they get the net?”

_ _ “We’re still trying to figure that out.” Satomi answers. She eyes the two unconscious humans distrustfully.

_ _ “What are we gonna do with them?” Stiles asks.

_ _ “We’re still trying to figure  _ that _ out, too.”

_ _ “We think that the Hales will want them.” Allison says. Stiles opens his mouth to ask where the rest of the pack is, but Lydia answers before he can ask.

_ _ “This  _ just  _ happened; we were lucky some of Satomi’s pack were already here to grab them and get rid of the rest. And I think she’s trying to keep from making a scene about it.” That explains the lack of text from his dad, at least.

_ _ “Why would she do that?” Stiles asks. Allison is quiet for a second before responding.

_ _ “I’m not sure, but I don’t think I want to-”

_ _ “ _ Stiles _ .” The name is snapped harshly -- clicking and snapping and dual-toned. Stiles turns with furrowed brows, and a familiar head rests just above the black water that surrounds Beacon.

_ _ “Cora?” He asks; it’d been too dark and gory during their first meeting to properly get a look at the color of her tail, but dark eyes flash a blazing gold and Stiles knows he’s right. “The fuck are you doing here?’

_ _ “Help.” Cora responds, trilling slightly, and Stiles can’t tell if that’s an answer or an order. “Give.”

_ _ “Give?” Amber eyes focus on the two unconscious men at Stiles’ feet. “Oh.”

_ _ “Problem solved?’ Allison asks.

_ _ “One of them, at least.” Lydia responds. Satomi is silent as she looks between the mermaid and the dumbasses that dragged Cora’s pack member onto the sand. The pack member who is now completely silent, Stiles notices. Ice blue eyes bore into him when Stiles turns around to check on her. Yikes. “So much for your code.”

_ _ “We still have to put her back.” Allison says, scowling.

_ _ “Yeah.” Stiles sighs, rubbing his eyes. If he left this Hale out on the shore, there’s a 100% chance that Stiles  _ and _ his pack  _ and _ a handful of innocents get brutally murdered by the rest of the pack. It’s been a while since he’d had to deal with a mermaid with legs, but Stiles is sure that enough of the Hale pack have obtained that shift to get revenge.

_ _ “ _ Stiles _ .” Cora snaps again, panic infecting her tone. Stiles’ heartbeat skyrockets. “ _ Fast _ .” She throws a glance over her shoulder, and Stiles understands. There’s a storm rolling in, and it wouldn’t surprise Stiles if the cause ended up being a pissed off Hale alpha.

_ _ “Fuck.” Is all Stiles can manage, crouching down and tossing one of the knocked-out dumbasses over his shoulder.

_ _ “What?” Allison asks, immediately on her feet.

_ _ “Drag that other one closer. I don’t think Cora’ll go by you.” Allison follows the orders as Stiles nears the black waves. Fear builds as he closes the gap between the water and him, but he trusts that Cora won’t kill him. Not until she gets her pack member back, at least. He refuses to step into the water, but Cora simply makes eye contact and holds out her arms. He tosses the man into them quickly, refusing to dwell on what he’s doing. Stiles answers Allison as he walks over to collect her human. “The rest of the pack is coming, I think.”

_ _ “Fuck.” Allison echoes, and Stiles nods. He drags the other man over to the water, and Cora easily catches him, too. The first man has already sunk below the waves. Stiles ignores the turning of his stomach. “How are we getting her back in?” Allison motions to the beached mermaid, but her focus seems to be on the quickly nearing black clouds.

_ _ “Uh-” Stiles starts, but something hitting the ground next to his feet distracts him. It’s a knife. A very odd looking, wet knife. “Is that made from coral?”

_ _ “Who knows.” Allison says, and Stiles scoops it up. “Hopefully not.” The handle is coarse, and he feels it cut at his palm.

_ _ “Help.” Cora says again from the water, and Stiles takes a deep breath, turning to face the beached Hale. Blazing blue tracks him as he approaches, but the mermaid stays silent even as he reaches her. Stiles stares at her uncertainly, and she lets out an impatient noise before shoving one arm through the netting. It flares red as mountain ash scrapes past her skin, and Stiles isn’t quick enough to flinch back before she grabs onto his wrist. She drags him forward forcefully enough that Stiles trips and lands nearly on top of her, and the knife cuts deeper.

_ _ “Cut it.” She snarls, trilling less than her younger pack member.

_ _ “You speak-” Stiles’ incredulity is cut off by the mermaid tugging him closer, baring her bloody fangs.

_ _ “ _ Cut. It. _ ” Stiles flinches as the knife pulls at his wound, but he complies with the order. Angry thunder rumbles nearby, and Stiles can see Satomi and her pack begin to fall back. Satomi grabs an arm of each of Stiles’ pack members, and she pulls them along with her pack. Cora’s head begins to float further away as the waves recede, and in the middle of cutting a large chunk of net, the sky turns black as thunder clashes alongside a tritoned snarl. Stiles is grabbed onto tightly -- claws sinking into his arms -- and moments later ice cold water crashes into him. Stiles gets shoved violently by the waves, his blood mixing with the black water. The tide retreats, leaving Stiles shivering while he’s pelted harshly with what feels like a monsoon from above. A now very angry mermaid remains clutched onto him as she turns her head, shouting in the language Cora speaks that Stiles doesn’t understand. Warmth trickles down his arms where the mermaid is latched into him, but he can’t exactly bitch about getting cut again. A couple cuts on his arms are definitely preferable to whatever this woman’s alpha has in mind.

_ _ Stiles can’t see very well -- can’t quite make out  _ anything _ \-- but a violent red streaks up and down with the crashing waves, and the color seems to stay focused on him. There’s an amber color behind it -- narrowed with anger but quiet against the rage of a higher ranking pack member. Other shades of gold and blue dot the black waters and clash with the grey skies on particularly large waves, and Stiles can faintly hear the distant screaming of his betas where Satomi and her second are dragging them up the stairs. There’s about half a foot of water covering the beach at even the highest point, but the alpha doesn’t seem able to cover the sand further. Their rage -- Stiles guesses; hopes, really -- is blocking out their control of the water. The waves are responding to emotions rather than orders.

_ _ Stiles still has the knife. It may be the shock smothering his logic, but he decides to just continue cutting the net. The mermaid beneath him continues to scream at her alpha, the alpha continues to roar lividly at Stiles, and Stiles continues cutting at the mermaid’s bonds. He rips at the material, cuts at knots, and the mermaid shoves the netting off of her when there’s a big enough gap. Her tail is still trapped by the netting, but with her arms free she’s able to swipe at the material with her claws. Her bloodied claws. Stiles glances warily at his arms, and he hopes that the blood staining his skin isn’t enough to make him pass out. It continues to drizzle lazily from the ten puncture wounds, and when Stiles looks down at his hand, the flesh is angry and bleeding beneath the sharp knife handle. Stiles is jerked out of his shock as his chin is grabbed in a clawed hand, and his head is yanked to the side. The force of it hurts, but nothing breaks. Gotta look on the positive side. Another growl sounds off from the alpha, but it sounds less “I’m gonna shred you into little Stiles-Slices” and more “What the fuck is even going on?”

_ _ “Stiles.” A voice cuts through the growling and the thunder and the crashing of angry waves, and Stiles focuses on the face he’s been turned to.

_ _ “Hello?”

_ _ “You need to put me back.” She says, and,  _ somehow _ , Stiles feels even colder.

_ _ “You’re fucking with me.” He sounds hysterical.

_ _ “I’m not.”   
_ _ “If you could try to be more discreet in trying to kill me, it’d make me feel better.” Fear is rising to choke Stiles, making it hard to breath; hard to do anything.

_ _ “I’m not trying to-” The mermaid takes a breath, clenching her jaw. “You’re my only way back, and I’m not sure you have much time to put me back. Derek's not the most patient, and I think you’re coasting by on his confusion right now.”

_ _ “Why do you speak English so well?” Stiles’ question is ignored. Understandable; he’d probably ignore him too.

_ _ “You won’t be killed.” She promises, and, listen, Stiles lives on Beacon. He deals with batshit hunters and feral creatures on a damn near daily basis. That’s all Stiles can ask for, really. Not “you won’t be hurt,” just “not murdered.” That’s better than what he  _ usually _ gets. The stinging in his arms from salt water mixing with deep wounds tells him he’s well past not being harmed anyways.

_ _ “Fuck.” It escapes Stiles sounding strangled. His vision is coming and going with the waves -- he’s never been on the very edge of a panic attack for this long before -- but it’s either put the mermaid back in the water or start a fucking war with the Hale pack. The mermaid looks lost -- as lost as Stiles feels -- and the human barely flinches when she reaches out again for his wrist. In an action that causes some serious deja vu, the mermaid drags his hand to her neck, smearing blood across her skin and her soaked brown hair.

_ _ “You can do this.” She says, and Stiles believes her; just a little bit.

_ _ “I can do this.” Stiles repeats to himself, quietly. He rips the rest of the net off of the mermaid, throwing it off to the side angrily. The mermaid lifts her arms up -- much like Cora had a while ago -- and Stiles notices something scratched into her arm.  _ Laura Hale _ is scarred into her flesh like a brand -- a reminder, Stiles realizes. So she didn’t forget her own name during her turning. Stiles clenches his jaw, swallows against the panic rioting in his stomach -- his lungs, his heart, his  _ throat _ \-- and picks Laura up. It’s hard to see, still. The alpha’s anger hasn’t let up, so neither has the rain. The crackling lightning above is all that allows Stiles to see the figure looming further in the water.

_ _ Blood colored orbs stain the grey backdrop of the water and the sky; they’re all Stiles can really see, at this point. The human grimaces at the water that drips into his mouth, and he takes a step forward. The alpha isn’t silent -- not even close to silent -- like his beta had been at his approach. There’s a distinct, rageful rumbling paired with a pants-shittingly terrifying baring of teeth. If he hadn’t already been holding Laura so close, Stiles would’ve definitely ran in the opposite direction. Laura can probably sense Stiles’ hesitation, as she grips him tighter. Stiles takes a couple more steps, and the water lapping at his legs is giving him serious, equally traumatizing flashbacks.

_ _ This is the first time Stiles has seen the Hale alpha since the transition from Talia. This might be the first time  _ anybody _ has seen the Hale alpha since it was Talia, as even Satomi had been clueless as to who’d taken on the role. He’s obviously one of the Hale children, along with Laura and Cora. Stiles thinks there’s a few others. He’s bigger than Stiles predicted: all broad shoulders and rippling muscles. Despite the gore and the fangs and the impending death, the man looks like a fucking GQ model; that’s just unfair, in Stiles’ opinion. Stiles thinks the beard is an interesting choice -- considering he lives in the  _ ocean _ \-- and it seems too short to actually provide heat.

_ _ _ Luring prey _ , Stiles realizes when he snaps back into reality. The gap between the two has closed, and Stiles is --  _ terrifyingly _ \-- waist deep in ocean water. Laura snarls something at her alpha in their language, and the man scowls down at her before he relaxes out of the lunging stance he’d been in. He raises his arms up, and Stiles feels like he’s going to pass out as he passes Laura over to her alpha. Stiles starts to backtrack, but a clawed hand closes around his bicep, trapping him in place. Laura snaps something once again, and her alpha stares down at Stiles with a glare, a corner of his lip raising in irritation. Blood trickles over the alpha’s fingers, and the mermaid -- merman? -- looks down at it.

_ _ Through his fatigue, Stiles feels dread build in the pit of his stomach. The alpha gets a look of some combination of anger, exhaustion, and “ew, gross,” and Stiles looks down at the puncture wounds in his arm with what’s probably the same expression. A fang slips over the alpha’s lip; Stiles gives him the most murderous glare he can imagine. “Don’t you fucking dare.” The human mutters mutinously, fear forgotten for just a moment as he realizes where this is going. He’s ignored as the alpha decides to treat him like a fucking shot. The merman stoops down, drags his tongue across the wounds on Stiles’ left arm -- which, what the fuck, Stiles better not get some sort of infection from that shit -- bites his own lip, and then-

_ _ Stiles splutters as wet lips shove into his own, blood smearing across his face. All fear is momentarily forgotten as he punches an  _ alpha fucking merman _ in the shoulder. Luckily, the alpha seemed to be having an  _ equally _ bad time, so as soon as Stiles tastes salt and blood, he’s all but shoved backwards. The human’s arms windmill as he stumbles back, and he doesn’t even manage to panic when he’s suddenly grabbed from behind and  _ pulled _ . There’s a burning in his mouth, coating his tongue and creeping down his throat like a shot of shitty liquor. Allison and Lydia haul him up the stairs -- those  _ disgusting  _ workouts Chris puts them through really seem to be paying off -- and the burning seems to spread out from his throat, crawling under his skin and sinking into his brain. He might just be delirious, but Stiles can almost  _ swear _ he hears something close to a “thank you” from behind him. He’s not sure if it’s the blood loss, the burning, or the pure panic running through his veins, but the world quickly -- mercifully, for once -- goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao hey I'm still writing I just got fuckin swamped with bad shit happening and homework all at once so this like "update" thing is just me trying to edit this shit.


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